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Red, red, red.
It was the only color you could see. The red tint of the water swishing and slushing around your knees, stuck in the creases of the rocks beneath you, too far away to be washed away by the rough waves around the harsh slab of rock. Your skin was painted in red, hands were covered in it as you silently stared, unable to comprehend. Red, red, red.
Why was everything so red? You liked red.
Red was supposed to be good. A warm, loving color that always reminded you of the beautiful sunsets and sunrises that met you each morning and night. The color red was supposed to remind you of the flowers back home in the forests, a bright stunning shade that warned the majority away due to its poisonous nature, but with an unparalleled beauty that caused more intrigue than wariness.
Red, red, red.
Everything was red. You didn’t like red anymore.
Red wasn’t supposed to look like this. Dark and thick, coating your hands with its sickening, metallic smell. Red was supposed to be bright, always glowing like an otherworldly fire that warmed you from the depths of your sadness and bringing you back with a comforting hold that lasted through the coldness that nights brought.
But this wasn’t that kind of red.
This shade of red that was swimming in your vision was something else. A darker, twisted version of everything that you knew. This color didn’t bring comfort, but dread. An ugly feeling of hopelessness that weighed you down with no way out. There was no reaching hand calling out for you to take, no miracles to be performed as you stared.
All that was left was blood.
Neteyam’s blood.
Your little brother’s blood - coating your skin, buried beneath your fingertips and continuously splurting out from the hole in his chest as he lay before you, gasping for breaths that would no longer aid him. Lo’ak was here, beside you, pressing his shaking hands to the wound, begging and crying for something that would be impossible.
You knew it was too late. You had seen it.
When your dad had turned Neteyam’s body and seen the exit wound.
Your brother was dying.
Dying. Dead. Gone.
With a large gasp, you fumbled with your shaking hands before grabbing his fingers laying nearly limp on the ground. You were squeezing them to the point of breaking bones, but he didn’t react.
Neteyam didn’t react. He couldn’t feel you.
“Teyam, Teyam! Please, no, Eywa no!” Who was screaming?
You thought you were crying, but maybe it was a scream? You didn’t know anymore. Nothing made sense. Not your voice, or your surroundings. All you could see was red, and your brother’s body being covered in it, never stopping.
It wouldn’t stop! You sobbed as the realization snapped at you. Oh Eywa, please, not him. Anyone but him. Please, I beg of you, why him? Why…
“Sis-sister…Y/N..”
Lifting your head, your frantic eyes, blurry with tears grasped his hand tighter, pulling to your chest as the distant voice of your dad yelling commands became background noise.
“I’m here, little brother. I’m here…” Your voice shook like a million tremors, gasping through the tears as your chest constricted and you forced a smile upon your face to look at Neteyam.
“I’m…sorry,” he was struggling to speak, and you whimpered. “I-I took your…role…fro-from you…”
“Hush, stop talking,” you whispered. “You’re a skxawng, Teyam. I’m supposed to be the one to die for you, not this…”
He actually smiled. Fucking menace.
“Will…you…forgive me?”
Your lips trembled, a fresh wave of tears falling down your cheeks, the saltiness of it wetting your lips to the point as of you were drinking something. You choked, voice stuck in your throat before you forced it out with rough nods of your head.
“Of course, ‘Teyam. There is nothing to forgive.”
His eyes were fluttering shut as a moment of panic seized you, the other a - oh so selfish part that didn’t want to let go.
“I love you, so so much. I love you Neteyam…” Your head fell forward, eyes scrunching shut as you gripped his hands tight against your face. “So please…why are you leaving me?”
You waited. A breath, and then two.
But the truth was that even two breaths were too long.
Death did not offer two breaths if it did not want to. Death was no friend nor foe. Death was not someone who would offer comfort nor reasonings.
Death was simply there.
There was no reply, and when you looked up all that met you in return were the unseeing, yellow eyes of your little brother. Unblinkingly staring up into the eclipse above your heads as your mother’s wails echoed in your ears.
Cold.
Everything was cold.
His skin was cold, the water was cold.
Your heart was cold.
As if shot yourself, you stumbled up on your feet, releasing the coldness that had wrapped around your brother’s body and you turned away. Stumbling to the edge of the slab of grey rock that was Neteyam’s deathbed.
Staring but unseeing.
Breathing, but not truly living.
Is this what it felt like to grieve? To lose a loved one?
You fell, collapsing to your knees and ignoring the sharp sting of rock cutting into your skin.
Why were the waves so dark? You remembered them to be blue, bright, and clear.
Dying. Dead. Gone.
He was gone.
Your little brother was dead.
Neteyam was dead.
Gasping breaths broke through your lungs, lurching forward as your tried to find grip beneath your fingertips scraping against the useless smooth surface of the rocks. Only adding to your injuries as nails peeled and broke from the force.
Gone. Dead.
Everything hurt. You screamed into nothing, gasps and wails turning to breathless sobs, your curled up fists hitting the ground in frustration and anger.
Then there was warmth. Not the same that was accompanied with Neteyam’s comfort, but larger and rougher, pulling you up and stopping your self inflicting injuries in the growing grief threatening to drown you without the help of the ocean.
“Sh, I’ve got you baby. I’ve got you.” It was your dad.
Red. Dead. Gone.
Everything was red and then it wasn’t, washed away slowly as if Eywa herself was trying to bury the truth away with her own tears.
Everything was warm and then it was dead.
He was dead.